It's Not A Real Holiday
by KissThis
Summary: Hermione doesn't like Valentine's Day it's just one big conspiracy to make people buy cards and candy. Can the boys get her into the holiday spirit? Fun, fluffy humor. Includes: excessive decorations, drag!Sirius, and a giant pink teddy bear


**Completed:** 02/13/05 11:59

**Posted:** 02/14/05 12:05

Usual disclaimer.

-

"Hermione! Come downstairs!"

"And take part in the consumerist conspiracy that takes a honored saint and makes a mockery of his allotted day so that the capitalist workers will waste their money on anything heart-shaped or bearing the three segregated romance affiliated colors, thereby insuring a rise in chocolate consumption and sale of flowers leaving nothing left after the spending rush, but obese women and vases of mulch? I think NOT!"

Helen Granger rolled her eyes at the banister as she heard her daughter's tirade from the bottom of the stairs.

"What are they teaching you in that wizarding school of yours?" she joked in bemuse.

"No sole entity should come that close to world domination – greeting card corporations included!"

"You're being ridiculous..."

"Wake me when it's over."

"Won't you just come down for breakfast?" her mother cajoled to the closed door at the top of the stair. "Your father's made us waffles."

The door opened a crack. "The good kind?" Hermione's disembodied voice was hopeful.

"With real butter." Helen Granger swore.

The young teenager was silent in contemplation for a long time before the door finally opened, and she uttered a disgruntled 'fine'.

"But I will _not_ be 'merry'," Hermione swore, crossing her arms for emphasis. She'd stubbornly dressed in brown corduroys and a forest green t-shirt, completely opposite of her mother's crimson blouse and frilly heart-shaped apron.

"That's my girl," Helen babied, patting the surly witch on the cheek as she 'thumped' down the stairs.

Upon making a blind beeline straight for her breakfast table, Hermione was abhorred to find her sought after waffles grilled into a grotesquely large heart atop the china plate; a swirled scoop of pale pink butter already melting atop it.

"Good work, Michael," Helen called as she passed through the kitchen. "She _loves _it."

"I'm emancipating myself!" Hermione declared sliding back the offensive mutilation of an age-old breakfast food and pushing away from the table.

"It's a holiday princess," came her dad's voice over the rustling of newspaper through the bar window. "You're going to have to wait until tomorrow."

Hermione twisted in her seat to face her dad, who was leaning on the bar counter, and gripped the back of her chair. "It's not even a _real _holiday," she huffed. Her father, far too used to her debates, merely smiled into his mug of coffee and continued to peruse the market section of the paper. "It's a ploy to condition the human psyche into associating _love _with holiday-specialized_ snickers_. As if shiny wrapped chocolate bars taste any better than normal..."

"Eat your breakfast, dear," her mother called from some unseen point behind her father as she bustled about the kitchen.

Hermione looked around at the cutesy heart doilies hanging from the ceiling and the bowls of various sugary treats her mother had set out around the house. A large wicker basket served as the table's centerpiece, overflowing with brightly colored flowers and tied 'round the handle with a freakishly large and gaudy bow. Hermione gagged.

"I've lost my appetite..."

Helen's reply was stern. "Finish it, or I'll send your friends right back where they came from."

"_Mum_!" Hermione exclaimed. She jumped out of her chair, simultaneously throwing her hands up in exasperation, and demanded the location of these 'friends'. "Where are they, Mum? Let them out of whatever closet you've stuffed them into and bring them _here_!"

"Nonsense," Her mother tittered. "I haven't hidden those men anywhere. They're—"

"_Heeeeeeeeeere_," came a sing-song voice fro the doorway; where before there had been no voice, much less a sing-songy one.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione cried out in dismay as she turned, hoping, for quite good reason, to look upon her best friend of thirteen years, and found him, instead, to be looking quite atrocious.

"What the devil are you wearing?" Hermione could hear her father spluttering into his coffee.

"I'm the _Looove_ Bug," he declared. And he was.

Sitting, and most likely tangled, in his messy raven hair was a silver-painted plastic headband, that on its two excessively long springs, held twin, red-glitter hearts – the kind of accessory Muggle children were fond of wearing. Over the back of his black jumper sprouted two shell-like wings, red with black spots.

"You look like a demented lady beetle," she told him, mouth still agape in horror.

Harry wrinkled his nose to push his glasses up a bit higher and pressed a palm against the glowing red heart that pulsed against the black cotton center of his chest. "Aww...the Love Bug loves you too."

"Stop talking like that." Hermione eyed him warily, as if his joviality was contagious. "I hope you didn't drive in like that."

Harry just grinned a mischievous, secret smile. "Your mum was right – you are a bit of a grump."

Hermione's head whipped around with painful velocity and though Harry couldn't see, he figured she was probably giving her amused mother a glower of Snape-like standards. Lord knew he and Ron had been on the receiving end of such a glare on more than one occasion.

"Come on, Hermione. Cheer up!" Harry said, ignoring the annoyed prodding at his back. This garnished her attention, though, for the sake of the smile on her mother's face, Hermione held her disapproving scowl as long as she was able.

"Capitalist pigs have sucked me dry of 'cheer'," she glowered dramatically.

"Nonsense." The bugified Harry beamed. "We're here to get you in the holiday spirit!"

"Who's '_we_'?"

Harry practically skipped into the dining room. His heart antennae jiggled and bounced nauseatingly to watch. The parade that followed after was only worse.

Dressed as, what Hermione could only guess to be 'Cupid', came Ron. Wearing a white toga over his jeans, and a pair of not so very Roman foam flip-flops, he carried a quiver on his back and a bow in his hand; though, for good or ill, Hermione doubted he could even see what he was aiming at with his bangs of shaggy ginger obscuring his eyes.

The next person came right on Cupid's tail, and it was they that caused the choke of surprise from Hermione's father and the girlish giggles from her mother, who'd already seen the spectacle. With a desperate wave of Hermione's wand, the divider between the kitchen and dining room slid down and was covered by curtains.

It was Sirius, but a Sirius unlike the one who'd become her close friend. This Sirius was dressed in a long red silk evening gown and a blonde wig.

"Aphrodite, love." The introduction was delivered in a high-pitched falsetto.

"Oh...my..._god_," she whispered, wide-eyed staring at the painted lips and high heels. "You've finally cracked."

"Padfoot here's been off his rocker since we were in school," the voice revealed Hermione's old DADA teacher, now good friend, Remus Lupin. He was following up the strange parade looking, thankfully, as normal as ever. He smiled at her, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "He's just gotten worse."

Shaking her head, Hermione dropped into her chair – placing her back in front of the offensive waffle. "Finally, someone not here to torment me."

"Oh, I _am_," he corrected, earning himself a look of horror. "I just chose a more..._subtle_ costume," he explained eyeing a shamelessly posing Sirius.

"And just who are you?" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Remus obligingly spread his arms wide, for Hermione to take in his all white wizarding robes. "_I_," he said grandly. "Am Saint Valentine."

And there, pinned to his chest, was a piece of parchment upon which his name had been written – in case he should forget."

"How convenient," the grouchy Hermione grumbled, looking for a more suitable object to throw at them than her breakfast. "Now, in addition to hating your holiday, I can hate _you_ as well."

While Hermione worked at trying not to cave to her friend's wounded miming of a sword being driven through his heart and the like, she was completely unprepared for Harry to swoop down on her from behind and bite her soundly on the shoulder.

"What the _deuce_!" She jumped so hastily in shock that she banged her knees on the underside of the table and would have cracked Harry across the face if his Seeker reflexes hadn't been as fine-tuned as ever.

"You've been bitten by the Love Bug!" He announced brightly. Procuring a second set of heart antennae, he placed the headband unceremoniously down over her bushy hair.

The merrily bobbing appendages clashed with Hermione's deep scowl.

"I hate Valentine's day."

"That no attitude to have, pet," Aphrodite husked. Noticing quickly that Hermione had discovered the heavy crystal dish of chalky candy hearts, he motioned to Ron and the two of them hooked Hermione beneath her arms and yanked her out of the chair and onto her feet.

"Come!" Cupid bellowed. "Let us retire to the lady's bedchambers."

"We're not retiring to my _anything_!" Hermione's voice was shrill.

"Don't worry, dear," her mum said, bustling through the door of the kitchen. Her father was right behind her, both of their coats in hand and his hat already upon his balding head. "We'll see ourselves out," she said.

"_Mother!_" Hermione yelled in disbelief. When Helen Granger merely waved impishly at Sirius, who gave her a charming smile, and walked out to the car, the brunette turned to her father. "_Daddy!_ You can't just leave me here with them!"

Michael Granger tipped his hat at the lot of them, and nodded to Hermione. "Give us a ring when you're free, princess," he bequeathed genially, and left his daughter's flat.

Surprise coloring the face of everyone, the first to recover was Ron. Grinning in a way that made you want to check if you still had your wallet, he tossed his head so that he could clear the hair from his eyes, and prodded Hermione in the stomach with one of his arrows.

"Hey!" She exclaimed as she came out of her stupor. "It's enough that my flat has been ruined with all this lovey-dovey frivolities without you poking m – ow! That's sharp!"

She backhanded the arrow and its bow away from her abdomen, and continued to swat at it until Ron took the hint and stopped attacking her with it. "You're just lucky Fred and George weren't done with their prototypes yet," Remus informed her.

"Yeah, but they sent over you lot instead," she snipped back.

"And what's an upstanding young lady like yourself doing letting four strapping men into your home without supervision?" Harry teased, reaching out to tweak her chin.

"What _men_ are you talking about?" For the first time since her friends had arrived, a smile was beginning to form on Hermione's face as she thought about it. "The only men here are Remus and Sirius, and the latter, I'm afraid, has gone drag."

Sirius elbowed his old friend in the ribs and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Didja hear that, Moony? I think our little pet wants you to go up to her bedroom and ravish her."

"Sirius." Hermione's frown was back in place. "Take off that wig," she said reasonably, even if she _was_ ignoring his earlier comment. "Black suits you better."

Beaming like a school boy who'd just been named the teacher's pet, the taller Marauder pulled the wig off the side of his head and saffron curls spilled out over his hands. "She may like your body," he said in a loud aside to Remus. "But she likes _my_ hair."

Reaching up, he managed to hook a finger through the elastic binder that held up his hair and pulled the long strands out of their pony-tail. With a Baywatch flip of his hair over his shoulder, he ran his broad hands through it, chaotically putting it back to rights.

"Better?" he asked Hermione's approval.

Hands on her hips, the young woman looked over the man still in his _lovely_ evening dress and settled on his face with an appraising eye. "You're still completely unpresentable—" Sirius' face fell. "Honestly, what possessed you lot to dress up this way?"

"Why to bring that beautiful scowl to your face, 'Mione," Ron gushed, pinching her cheek.

"Now, now, children," Remus reprimanded as Hermione tried to tackle her apparently "former" best friend. Looking to be the voice of reason in all of the ensuing insanity and ridiculousness, he steepled his fingers and tapped them thoughtfully against his chin. "I think we're forgetting our earlier mission here." He pointed upwards. "The bedroom?"

"The bedroom!" Sirius chorused enthusiastically. Picking up his skirts in a less than dignified manner, he moved quite quickly, given his high heels, up the stairs and over the landing where they couldn't see him any longer.

Hermione, wearing a particularly flattering face of confusion, turned away from watching the now empty staircase and presented Remus, the most likely to answer, with her question. "Has he..._worn heels before?_"

The lycan shook his head slowly and deliberately. "Don't ask," he said, before the younger woman was seized by Ron and Harry with an 'upsie daisy' and carried bodily up the stairs. Once again the caboose to their 'looney train', Remus swiped a handful of pink and white m ms from the candy dish sitting on the hall table and jogged up after them.

It seemed, irrationally, that in the short trip from the first floor to the second, Hermione's aggravation and glowering had changed to half-hearted whines. "I hate Valentine's Day..." Remus heard her lamenting as he climbed the stairs.

She was lying across her bed looking up at a streamer bedecked plaster ceiling – her mother's handiwork – with a jutting lower lip. Harry was laying at an odd angle to her, having pushed her legs so that she was curled up and he could use her feet as a pillow for his head. He'd banished the awkward wings and the adage onto his jumper, but he'd left his spring-hearts on. Hermione still wore hers as well.

Ron was standing shirtless in front of Hermione's wardrobe, pulling at the drawers haphazardly while routing through them with equal carelessness. "Hermione!" He wailed childishly after his efforts ended fruitlessly. "What happened to that one shirt of mine...you know – _the one_ with the..._thing_...?"

"Top drawer, right side," she sighed.

"Where's Sirius?" Remus asked, noticing a blaring absence of the party's resident drag queen.

"He's in the closet changing," Harry answered, propping himself up on one elbow. To Hermione he said in curiosity: "How many of our clothes do you have?"

"All of 'em," she groused, throwing an arm over her eyes. "The four of you shed like dogs."

"Hey! I represent that remark," Sirius barked with a rough laugh. He came out of Hermione's walk-in closet, sporting a pair of black sweatpants and pulling a navy t-shirt over his head with the word 'HOT' emblazoned on the front in bold white letters. "How did I leave my pants at your house?" He asked with grinning curiosity.

"We're a bit high up for you to be leaning in the gutter," Hermione pointed out. "I'm hoping it was a time you came to swim, or maybe they were pajamas...I don't know!" She ended finally. "Just don't question the system – I'll put you right back in that dress."

"Say what you will," Sirius husked. He sat himself down on the increasingly crowded bed as well, and put his back to a canopy post. "But I looked damn fine in that Muggle gown, and it wasn't that uncomfortable either..."

Hermione gave Harry a look as if to say 'he's _your_ godfather'. Ron was stumbling around trying to pull his shirt on over his head.

"Is it time for presents?" Remus asked as Ron's flying leap onto the bed took up the last bits of space and he opted for pulling up a chair instead.

Hermione sat upright, inadvertently kicking Harry behind the ears, and she was again looking suspicious. "Presents?"

"Yup!" Ron reaffirmed. "_We_ have brought you the traditional Valentine's day gifts to change your mind about this lovely holiday."

"It's _not_ a holiday..." Hermione insisted stubbornly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Broken record, broken record, broken record..."

Hermione heard Sirius laugh harshly, and the sound caused her to look at him without thinking. His leg was bent inward and the other was pulled up to his chest, being used to support one of his dangling arms. He ran his free hand through his slick bangs as the mouth cracking laugh made his jaw ache.

He noticed Hermione's scrutiny then, and wagged his tongue at her. Hermione laughed before she realized that he'd lightened her mood, and smacked him in the knee. He truly was just a man-shaped dog.

"Is it weird that I want to pet you right now?" she asked with a chuckle.

Sirius' grin grew wider (if it was possible), and he stuck his head out to her for what have you. "Go right ahead, love. Wouldn't be the first time."

Obligingly, Hermione set a hand on the crown of his head and patted it, albeit a bit awkwardly. "Save the stories, please," she entreated, and she could feel him chuckling beneath her hand.

"I wouldn't touch him if I were you," Remus warned in a blasé tone. "Got lice he has."

At this, Sirius ruffled his hair – consequently knocking Hermione's hand off – and looked across the bed at Remus through a curtain of his own tousled hair. "Why you gotta be so mean, Moony. You never say anything nice about me..."

"I would if there was anything nice to say." Remus flicked up the bill of an invisible hat and propped his feet nonchalantly up on top of Hermione's bed.

The overgrown child that was Sirius whimpered and pitifully dropped himself onto his stomach, having to land half on top of both Harry and Ron due to lack of space. Both boys gave loud 'oofs!' at the sudden added weight, while Hermione reprimanded Remus for putting his boots onto her 'nice comforter'.

"Whenever the two of you get together your manners go straight to the devil."

Harry nudged Ron to look over as Hermione faced forward again. Behind her back, Remus was kicking his feet back up onto the bed. Their poorly suppressed laughter brought Sirius' face, turned baffled, out of the fluff of bed sheets, and the two younger men had to fight harder as a knowing Hermione mouthed 'he's dead' without so much as a glance back at the oblivious Remus.

Grinding her teeth together, Hermione made an obvious effort to restrain herself from physically attacking the man behind her and instead folded her hands primly in her lap. "I thought I was getting presents," she teased. "And yet here I sit, presentless as the day I was born."

"Ask nicely," Ron told her sternly, while Harry began rummaging through his pockets.

"For you to leave? No..." She drawled thoughtfully. "Already tried that. I shall be forced to bodily remove you, and not in the nice good-cop, bad-cop way."

Ron clapped his hands together excitedly. "Alright! You talked me into it."

Pulling his wand out of his back pocket, Ron enlarged the trinket he'd pulled from his pocket and a substantially sized package landed in her lap. It was all white with a thick pink ribbon running up each side and tying in a simple bow on top.

Harry narrated as she pulled the bow's tail and lifted the lid, smiling softly in anticipation. After all, who didn't like receiving gifts – even if it was in the _disgusting_ spirit of Valentine's Day.

"Number one," Harry began, flipping onto his stomach and propping his chin in his hands like a schoolgirl. "The traditional expensive jewelry and/or clothing."

Hermione gasped as she looked into the box; Harry's words having just receded. In a rare moment of breathlessness, she was struck mute at the gift sitting innocuously in her lap. Reaching into the box with the expectant faces of her best friends around her, her fingers slipped beneath cold metal and she lifted the necklace into the air.

It was twisted silver, the chains so perfectly molded and forged that it was soft to the touch. The apex of the collar piece trickled off in a thin, finely braided dangle that attached to a small tear-drop sapphire. Her birthstone.

She held the beautiful piece up to her neck.

"Aaaand...since you are a particularly hard case in this season of love and romance, we decided to make it an 'and'," Remus added.

While Hermione switched her hold on the necklace to one hand to reach back into the box, Ron made a cutting motion with his hand to his old professor. "You're already on her list," he muttered. "Don't make it worse."

The next goodie Hermione pulled from her box of her surprises was yards and yards of red silk. Somehow she managed to lay out the garment without dropping her necklace, and when she did she started to laugh.

"Now we can match," Sirius grinned.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Ron was instantly on top of her. "Ah, ah, ah! We're not finished yet!" His voice increased in volume as he had to talk over her protests. The redhead continued to make nonsensical sounds until Hermione's teeth finally clicked shut and she stopped trying to (heaven forbid) thank them.

Ron narrowed his eyes at her, inordinately suspicious of her unfamiliar silence, and was promptly rewarded with his friend trying to speak again. "Ah!" He shouted. Hermione's eyes crossed slightly to look down at the warning finger he was pointing right at her nose.

"Harry, mate, take it away."

Following Ron's instructions, Hermione's childhood friend produced a second white box and tapped it solidly with his wand, dropping the still enlarging box into her waiting arms. Remus, thoughtfully, dug his own wand out of his pocket and levitated her evening gown to hang on her closet door.

Pulling the tails and unraveling the bow, Hermione gave a startled cry as the lid shot off and a gigantic bundle of balloons shot up into the air. How they'd managed to stuff the head-sized helium globes into that tiny box, she had no idea, but they **all** had pink cherubs and flashing hearts on them.

"I _loathe_ all of you." Hermione swatted the bouncing balloons away with a disgusted look.

"And now you can do it with your very own cliché of a dozen red roses," Harry cooed, still sporting the aggravatingly cheery demeanor he'd come to her door with. From behind his back he made on odd gesture and then, with an eye-roll incurring dramatic flourish, he reached into the box and pulled forth a rather beautiful crystalline vase stuffed with the promised roses framed by baby's breath.

"My turn!" Sirius yelled enthusiastically, before she could even utter a word.

Tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he rubbed his large hands together as he did so often when he was planning something mischievous; in other words, something Hermione wouldn't like. He reached with both hands back over his shoulders and drew up over his head a gigantic monstrosity.

Hermione had no idea how he'd hidden it behind his back; it was muggle-ly impossible.

"The much loved 'giant, stuffed animal'," he decreed, and dropped it on the bed. Ron disappeared.

Hermione looked as if she'd just swallowed a bug. To say it was 'giant' was understatement. It was _enormous._ Enormous and _pink_.

"SIRIUS! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH A FIFTEEN FOOT TALL TEDDY BEAR?" She shrieked, flailing out from underneath a man-sized, fluffy leg. "SUFFOCATE YOU WITH IT, THAT'S WHAT!"

Sirius yelped in surprise as a brunette missile launched itself at him, knocking them both off the bed. It didn't help that while she was trying to kill him, Harry thought it'd be funny to kick the mutated bear off after them. It landed right on top of Hermione, rendering a elbow into Sirius' cheek and flattening them both to the floor. Despite, Hermione's promises to strangle him, the two 'adults' split up in the fashion of 'every man for himself'.

When they both finally emerged from the sea of sickeningly pink fluff, they were red-faced from the heat and panting from lack of oxygen.

"I'm too old to be doing this," Hermione complained, collapsing onto her back once she was free and trying to regain her breath.

"If you're old, then I'm dead," Sirius heaved back, dropping himself against the wall. Hermione laughed, but it was weak without the proper ratio of breath and strength.

"That's it...no more," she gasped out when she could, and propped herself up onto her elbow. Wiping her fluffy bangs out of her eyes she looked sternly at the lot of them.

"Not even for candy?" Ron goaded. (He seemed to have survived his burial without damage. Pity.)

Hermione perked up at the word and got to her feet; making sure to walk directly over Sirius on her way to the bed. "Candy?" She sat down cautiously, as if they'd planned to bewitch her bed into a giant vat of pudding.

"Only the mandatory heart-box of assorted chocolates!" Harry exclaimed, shooting her an exasperated look. "_Honestly…_"

"All of these came from Moon's private stash, so you'd better appreciate it," Sirius warned, before he handed over the large white box. The pink ribbon made a skewed cross over the lid and had its bow in the top corner.

Casting a wary eye on Harry, Hermione slowly eased off the cover, lifting the point surreptitiously first like something else was about to leap out at her. "Hermione," they all groaned, and her face flushed. Giving them a red-faced scowl, she 'hmph'ed and assented in yanking off the lid.

In the individual wax wrappers that had once held what Hermione assumed to have been French chocolates, judging by the lingering smells, were nestled miniature snickers and crunchie bars still in their shiny, foil wrappers. Unable to resist the temptation, she grabbed a crunchie and tore into the wrapper.

"These are my favorite chocolates," she said, popping the candy into her already watering mouth and giving a satisfied moan of delight.

"We know," Ron said, looking smug.

With the strong taste of chocolate still on the back of her tongue, Hermione licked her lips, savoring the crumbs that had slipped loose. Dragging the white carton protectively into her lap, she caught Sirius trying to snag one of the bars and smacked him hard. "You're all forgiven," she relented, endorphins already whizzing through her brain and sending out pleasantly happy signals.

She reached for a snickers.

"That just leaves one gift." Harry smiled at her quizzical expression just before she began counting off the gifts on her hand.

"I think we've got all the big ones guys; though, I still hate this pathetic cover-up for mass marketing we call a holiday," she added as an afterthought.

The statement made Sirius' eyes roll. "Have we told you how difficult you are lately?"

Hermione shot a quick glare at Harry. "Harry called me a 'grump'..."

"Well, let's get this last gift over with so you can take your nap," Sirius joked, slapping her on the back; she very nearly choked on her chocolate bar.

There was a loud thump behind her, and Remus was lucky that when Hermione turned around to face him, she didn't connect the noise with his feet dropping off her bed. He'd removed his blindingly white robes and Hermione was glad to find one of his usual sweater vests had been worn underneath. Something was sitting in his lap, and she couldn't identify the object until he had picked it up and was holding it out to her.

"Something personal," he said, and considered it a job well done when her face lit up like a Christmas tree and she gave a true smile.

Hermione took the old volume into her hands and lowered it gently onto the bed with such reverence; one would think a single breath would shatter the bindings, by the looks of it.

"I've wanted this book for ages!" She enthused excitedly. Running her fingers down the engraved cover of 'Ancient Potions of the World', her hands practically itched to open it and delve into the vast stores of knowledge contained in the yellowed pages.

"A little birdie told me so," Remus laughed.

Leaning over the book interestedly, Harry took his cue and looked up at her with his big emerald eyes. Jade orbs sparkling, he chirped and her smiled grew even wider.

"Thanks, you guys," she said, crawling between bodies to place the valued book on her bedside table.

When she flopped back onto the mattress, a sparkling heart sprung down into her line of vision than disappeared again. She'd forgotten she was still wearing the antennae Harry had put on her. Reaching up, she moved to pull the ridiculous contraption off, but stopped short as Harry and Sirius' pouting faces closed in on her. With a weary indulgent sigh, she resituated the headband after its encounter with a giant teddy bear and left it on her head.

Judging by the doofy grins on the four men's faces, they seemed to have felt they'd accomplished something. Hermione smiled. She still didn't like Valentine's Day, but it wasn't for lack of love in her life. Of that she had an abundance.

Hermione decided to humor them.

"You guys are the best valentines a girl could ever have…" she gushed with humorously dramatic aplomb, and opened her arms wide to hug them.

All four men piled on top of her like they were fourteen year old kids. Amidst all the laughter and wrestling, in which both of Hermione's cheeks were soundly kissed, and all the tickling and throwing of painful objects, it was just five adults getting the chance to be children again.

So, maybe, February fourteenth wasn't _that _bad...

-

"Hey, Hermione...how do you feel about St. Patrick's Day?"


End file.
